


As Enchanting As It All May Seem

by warmommy



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Danger, F/M, Hiding from the Enemy, Masochism, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of self-harm, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 06:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13584054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmommy/pseuds/warmommy
Summary: Hugo and Millie are stuck together, hiding from the authorities and waiting it out. He discovers just how much of a turn on it is for her to hit him, and it turns into a bizarre and truly delightful sexual encounter. He’s desperate to make it continue, but Millie, as antisocial and violent as he is, begins to back further and further away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find this and a lot more at my tumblr, warmommy.tumblr.com!

Maybe there was a kind and loving God. Maybe. Hugo couldn’t exactly make that case for the world that he lived in or even the situation in which he currently found himself, except that, at the very least, he found himself in it with the only Basterd who was capable of keeping their  _fucking mouth shut_. 

Like himself, Millie didn’t talk very much, and, even though he knew next to nothing about her, as a result, he still liked her the most. The only thing she did now that was bothering him, as they remained hidden in a very tight space above a stairwell in an abandoned building, was slap his hand whenever he tried to light a cigarette. She was right to do this, though, because, if they were caught before they had the chance to escape under cover of darkness, they could kiss their asses goodbye.

Nicotine being the only vice he had in the entire world, this presented a challenge. He had them, but could not smoke. It wasn’t worth risking his life or hers, but he was growing increasingly unnerved at a staggering rate, and he needed  _something_  to occupy his mind. He sighed quietly and turned his attention over to Millie, who paid him no mind at all. She alternated between watching the door and one of the grime-covered windows. 

Things were so cramped that the only possible way to sit in anything remotely reminiscent of comfortable was for her to lean back against him, one of her legs spread across his lap. It was too practical to complain about, but she moved around every few minutes, and he wanted badly to bitch about that. Finally, he grabbed hold of her midsection just enough to hurt and held her still, hoping that could make his point. Without hesitation, her elbow came back and cracked his jaw. 

Oh. This was not good. No, not that. Hugo tried to move away, but, assuming it was a counterattack, Millie hit him again. It would only take  _seconds_  for her to realise–and there, she did. She turned to him with a look of exasperation and disbelief, gesturing with her hands to underscore. Hugo frowned. She was the one who hit him, and it wasn’t his fault that they had to be so close to each other. It was just a physical reaction and not within his control, why should he be ashamed of having an erection? Why should she get to feel disgust for him for something he couldn’t even help?

Although…he really wouldn’t mind another knock in the face. How to ask? How did one ask for such a thing? There was no possible way he could just start attacking her so that she would fight back and knock him around, she’d think he was trying to force himself on her. That wouldn’t do, and he would hate himself for giving that impression. She had already turned away, appalled with him, but–oh, okay,  _that_  he liked. The deep expansion of his lungs and how hard he was getting matched the thoughts that raced through his mind.

 _Fuck yes,_  he thought,  _be disgusted. Hate me. Find me appalling. Hit me again._

He  _couldn’t_  let her think she was in any way in danger, well, other than being in hiding, but this was past simply ignoring the problem away, and now he wanted her so badly, it literally hurt. Hugo tapped on her shoulder to get her attention. 

Millie held a finger up to her lips, indicating for him to stay quiet, and turned away again. 

With an annoyed, silent grunt, Hugo tapped her shoulder again. She narrowed her eyes at him. 

Hugo reached for her hand, pulled it into a fist, and kissed her knuckles. Knowing he had her attention, he mimed the rest, pulling her fist back and smacking himself with it. Millie rolled her eyes at him, so he did it again. Then she pulled her hand back and slapped him so hard, his hands automatically went to his zipper. 

Now her jaw dropped and she punched him again, and Hugo held his hands up, pressed together, in a silent plea. He tried to communicate with his eyes, but that was hard to do, when he didn’t even know how to communicate with words. Even by himself, this would likely rank as the best sex he’d ever had, and, although he was aware of how inappropriate and unacceptable it was, that just made it worse. The thought of being unacceptable to Millie was making him throb. 

After several long seconds had passed, Millie just looked at him with her lip curled, shaking her head, and made another motion for him to be quiet. She hit him again, then, and, with that tacit approval, Hugo pulled himself out with a relieved sigh and wrapped his hand around his cock. God, if looks could kill. Words would be better, hearing her voice, hearing her tell him that he was abhorrent, despicable, all those things…

She put him through the paces for a while, even choking him a bit at some points. He loved every second, every nerve she lit in his body, and, maybe he wouldn’t ever be able to look her in the eye again, but it was  _worth it._ He kept silent, knowing that if he didn’t, she would probably quit altogether. 

She did anyway, though. She was sitting on his knees and grew still suddenly, just staring him right in the eye, still not ever looking down. Without warning, Millie leaned into him and kissed him so hard their teeth clacked together. Her grip on him was tight, and he returned it with such fucking fervor, he wasn’t sure if this was killing him or not. 

He would die a happy man, though, if it were. Even if it was almost overwhelmingly intoxicating to feel like she was repulsed by him, feeling that she even  _maybe_  wanted him, too, was almost overstimulating. He tried begging her to hate and want him at the same time. He tried with his eyes, with his hands, with the movements of his body. It quickly shifted, though, to a simple silent plea to want him.  _Him_ , Hugo Stiglitz, the undesirable, the monster, the wretch. 

Millie grabbed his hands and placed them on her belt. His fingers worked numbly to pry it open, to unbutton buttons and unzip zippers. 

Millie was holding him, although she may not have seen it that way, when he guided himself inside her body. He bit into his own fist and used the other to squeeze her thigh so hard that it would bruise. 

She rolled her hips like it was nothing. Hugo held her steady, but that was it. He wasn’t fucking her, it was the other way around, and he was breathless,  _mad_  for it. Millie was bouncing in his lap, breathing just a bit too hard, gasping quietly. She mouthed his name, his surname, a few times, but made no other sounds. The enchantment of the look of pleasure on her face was more than enough for him. He circled her nipples lightly with his fingertips and traced down a body that was just as skin hungry, just as touch starved as his own.  

She bit him when she came, bit him on the shoulder, and he lost it. Colours flashed before his eyes, he was cumming so hard, and he could only barely regret not having the forethought to pull out first. Somewhere in the more primal part of his brain, he loved doing it, loved marking her as his own. 


	2. Chapter 2

He grew to hate the way that his fellow Basterds viewed Millie. When they did manage to escape and he showed up with a busted lip and bloody cuts on his face, never once did they ever seem to consider that she was the one that had done it. Her knuckles were skint in places, she’d worked him over so much. Rather, they assumed that he had stepped in as some kind of hero and rescued her, the damsel in distress. It would be humorous, if it weren’t so blindly maddening. She wouldn’t have appreciated if he told the truth, so Hugo kept it to himself, as the real story and masturbatory fantasy. 

He became  _obsessed_ , and he knew that he was, he was aware of how it presented many problems of logistics and otherwise, but he couldn’t help himself. Quickly, it got to the point where he was trailing after her all of the time and knew so much of her routine, and, if he ever got her alone, every time he ever got her alone, he tried getting her to hit him again.

When and how could God have created such a perfect human being?

It must’ve become obvious, how much he wanted her for himself, but it didn’t matter. Hugo was too obsessed with  _having_  her all for himself to give attention to the others or what they might think of it all. It probably looked like what it was, a grizzled man in his thirties single-mindedly pursuing a young woman of–what could she be? Twenty?–regardless of the fact that she  _clearly hated his very soul._

She even treated him like she hated him when they were alone together, when she was riding him in his lap the way she did in that abandoned factory. She never would do it any other way, wanted to claw at his chest and shoulders, and every kiss was a violent clash. He wanted her more every time, became thirstier the more he drank.

He didn’t want her hatred or animosity anymore, though. The longer this went on, the more he became convinced that this was the only person that could ever understand him. There was a story there that he did not know, why such a lovely little blonde American soaked her hands in blood and loved it. Sometimes, he saw scars on her body–old ones, too faded and smooth to have been anything from the war. He touched one once, and she broke his nose. He’d literally gone from standing to picking himself up from the ground.

It was too late, though, because he recognised it well, and knew exactly where it had come from. Though willowy in stature, someone at some point had put her to the wall and whipped her. It was high up on the back of her shoulder, but that happened sometimes. His entire back was shredded to hell, he knew. 

Hugo continued to walk by her almost always, to touch her hands, her wrists, her arms, her legs, her face. He treated Millie like a lover, even though he had never had one before, only people he’d fucked, mostly anonymously. He became convinced that it would all become so clear to her, one day, and that all he had to do was wait for that day to come.

But she stopped. Stopped everything. Withdrew, withdrew, withdrew, enough so that it frightened even him, and he knew all there was to know about being locked inside his own mind with all the world being on the other side. Her routines became erratic, so he didn’t always know where she was. She knocked him against his elbow with her gun, and he followed her eagerly.

“I need to know about you,” she said. 

Hugo’s brows lifted from the shock of hearing her voice. “What?”

Millie looked at him pointedly. She  _never_  repeated herself.

He gestured to the ground, a grassy patch. “Will you sit with me?”

She went without any of her usual fuss and stomping, and she set her gun to the side. Seated, she waited for him.

He sat across from her, legs folded. “What do you need to know about me?”

“How you got this way,” she said. Her fingernails tore at the grass beside her. “Don’t scowl at me and don’t try to bullshit me. You’re like I am. I need to know why.”

“I’m not scowling at you. I would at anyone else, but you’re right. We’re the same. I’ve thought about this. Have you seen my scars?” he asked.

Millie shook her head. “Show me.”

Hugo pulled his jacket down his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. She never even flinched. He tossed both articles of clothing into her lap and twisted at the waist to show her. “Some. Not all. I never even screamed for the new ones. What do you Americans say? Old hat?”

Her eyes had grown deeply saddened, but it didn’t bother him. Feeling sorrowful because someone else knew the same kinds of cruelty as you did was a far cry from pity. Those grieving eyes looked up into his. “You are going to be a father. I don’t know if I want you to be.”

A system-wide existential crisis hit him, suddenly, and he was half on top of Millie before he even knew what he was doing. He was touching her face, hovering just inches away, all the air forced from his lungs in sporadic bursts. “Millie, I will be a good father. I will. I know everything a bad man does, and I won’t do any of those things. You’re  _sure_  you’re pregnant?”

She nodded. She wasn’t even trying to push him away. “Yes. I thought about hanging myself, or shooting myself in the head.”

“Nein,” Hugo hissed, hugging her close, the mother of his baby. “Nein, you won’t do that. You don’t want to, or you would have. I’ve had a gun in my mouth more times than I could count it, and I’m here because of the same reason as you.”

“What’s that?”

“I thought there might be a better day to come, and I’ll do anything I can to convince you that that’s true for you, too. I never knew what that day would be like, or what that day would bring. I gave up once, I just started to kill Nazis left and right–more than they gave me credit for–and I thought that that was my better day. That was what I thought I was going to live for, until now, just now, I swear, when you told me I’m going to be a papa. Now I know…there’s nothing better. I never could’ve hoped or dreamed for it, but you’re giving it to me.” 

“Do you know what we are?” she asked miserably. “We should  _never_  be allowed to have children, let alone with each other. I’m not fit to nurture anything.”

“Nein, that’s not true, because you’re worried about it. You want the best for our baby. I do, too. I love our baby. I never had to have anyone love me to know that I love him. Or her. I don’t care which. Your heart and your body, they know how to love what is yours. You will be an excellent mother.”

She laughed, but it came out as a sob. “How the fuck would you even know that?”

Hugo kissed her hair, her forehead, adjusted himself to the way that she sat. She was scared, so scared. “You and I know each other, without knowing. You said I am going to be a father. That was when you decided. You know it. Do you know how beautiful it is, that you have life growing inside of you?”

“No.” She shook her head. Teardrops hit his neck. “Where are you from? Who did it to you?”

“I was born in Frankfurt, so far as I know. People did it, people responsible for me, I don’t know what to call them in English, then Gestapo. Those aren’t the worst, though, and I know you know what that is like. I hate that I know, that you do. Millie, we won’t be that way. Understand? Our baby can grow up to be happy, untouched, pure and clean in this world. They will, because you are their mother and I am their father, and anything that’s ever come before us, we’ve killed it. We killed them, we burned them down, we never let them take,  _never_  again. We are the  _same_. Whatever harm may even  _possibly_ befall our child, we kill it, we burn it to the ground, we never let them see, we never let them know. You will be the  _best_  mother, because you have suffered and because you  _lived_.”

“I would’ve killed it,” she said softly. “If it weren’t  _yours_. Get off me, I’m going to be sick.”

Hugo held her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find this and a lot more at my tumblr, warmommy.tumblr.com!


End file.
